Page 48 of Bride on the Dotted Line

I’m almost scared by how easy this feels, how my body recognizes hers.

By the time we reach the lobby of my building, she’s molded against me, her warmth soaking through my coat. I don’t set her down, even when the doorman pushes the door open for us.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harwood,” he says.

“Hi,” Sienna responds. I just nod.

The elevator dings. I carry Sienna inside, leaning my back against the mirrored wall of the car. She tilts her head, looking up at me. Her hair is half out of her updo now, black curls cascading over her shoulders.

The moment the doors slide shut, the air shifts. We’re alone now—reallyalone.

I should put her down. Any second. But I don’t.

Sienna’s arms tighten, still draped around my neck. The elevator hums upward. “You can let me go now.”

“I could,” I say, and I try to, but my arms aren’t listening.I shouldn’t have kissed her.I’m starting to wonder if I picked her up the moment she grabbed my wrist outside Café de Mario. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever be able to put her down.

Maybe I don’t care.

“Nick,” Sienna says. She licks her lips, and her gaze dips—just for a second—to my mouth. My pulse thuds. “You should let me go now.”

“I should,” I agree.

Maybe I don’t care about anything: the company; the contract; the right thing to do. I know what I need. I know what I want.

And so does she.

I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, our noses brush. Sienna’s chest rises and falls, her smell dizzying.

“I wanted to ask you before,” she says, lips hovering over my mouth. Her fingers curl against my neck, nails grazing just enough to cause a moment of delicious pain. All the blood in my body rushes to my cock. “How are you doing, with all of this?”

The elevator dings, doors opening to the dark entrance hall of my penthouse.

I pull back a second, looking into her eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks dark with heat. It’s the look I recognize from the wedding, after we broke our kiss and disentangled ourselves. The same look I glimpsed in her eyes before, when I didn’t know her; the one that made me realize we were the same.

Hunger.

That’s all the confirmation I need to do something stupid.

“If you mean right now …” I say, and peel us off the wall, carrying her into my living room. I don’t bother to turn on the lights as we go; the sparkling city outside gives me more than enough light to see her by.

She holds me tighter, squeezing harder, pressing her forehead against mine.

“If you mean right now …” I repeat, sweeping a collection of open cookbooks off the kitchen counter. They thud to the floor with Sienna’s purse and shoes, and I set her on the marble countertop. She orients herself to perch on the edge, knees opening, creating a glorious curtain of red silk that stretches between her legs.

I step up to her, my hips slotting perfectly against her body.

God, yes.

“If you mean right now …” I’m losing control. I undo the top button of Sienna’s coat with fumbling fingers. Her knees squeeze my sides, lips parted around a held breath. I spread the top of her coat open, revealing the smooth, beautiful hills of her collarbone, and I lower my mouth to the place where her shoulder meets her neck.

There, I finally finish the sentence.

“I like this, Sienna. I really fucking like this.”

Her breath whooshes out, fingers threading into the hair at the back of my head. “You …” But she trails off.

“Say it, Sienna,” I whisper into her skin.

---